


A Broken Chord

by cindergal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Coming Out, Community: rs_games, Inspired by Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cindergal/pseuds/cindergal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>No one he knows even likes jazz, so it's not a place any of them would likely frequent.  And that, of course, is its main attraction.  At first.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Broken Chord

**Author's Note:**

> Non-magical AU. Many thanks to [](http://spicklething.livejournal.com/profile)[spicklething](http://spicklething.livejournal.com/) for her help with the conception of this fic, as well as [](http://szandara.livejournal.com/profile)[szandara](http://szandara.livejournal.com/) and [](http://slaymesoftly.livejournal.com/profile)[slaymesoftly](http://slaymesoftly.livejournal.com/) for the awesome betas. Written for Team AU for the [](http://rs-games.livejournal.com/profile)[rs_games](http://rs-games.livejournal.com/).

**Prompt:** "Straight, No Chaser" by Thelonious Monk. Listen to a snippet [here.](http://www.pandora.com/music/song/thelonious+monk/straight+no+chaser)

 

Sirius doesn't remember where he heard about this place. No one he knows even likes jazz, so it's not a place any of them would likely frequent. And that, of course, is its main attraction. At first.

As he descends the stairs into the dark confines of the club, he feels like he’s stepping into another world. He's used to the uptight hotel lounges where his parents tend to socialize, everyone sipping martinis and having too-polite conversations about nothing at all. Or the raucous rock and roll bars of his old university mates, downing pints and trying to pull birds. But this, this is something else entirely.

The lighting is low, as are the ceilings, and the music is strange and cool and sexy at the same time, staccato piano contrasting with smooth saxophone and the unpredictable rhythm of the drums. It all feels slightly dangerous.

No one spares a glance at him as he walks through the center of the club, headed toward the bar. Nobody knows him here. He thinks he's going to like this place.

He takes a seat at the bar and waits for the bartender to finish his chat with a pretty woman a few seats down. She's openly flirting, and really, Sirius can't blame her. The barkeep appears to be about his age, of average height and slender, with a shock of sandy brown hair that keeps falling into his eyes. Nothing particularly special if you take all those things alone, but all together it's somehow rather charming. Especially when he smiles, as he's doing right now.

"What‘ll you have, mate?" he asks, still smiling as he approaches Sirius.

"Whiskey. Make it a double. Straight, no chaser."

The bartender chuckles warmly as he sets a glass down in front of Sirius and pours. "Tough day?"

Sirius pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, recalling the argument with his father. "Could say that."

"Want to talk about it?"

Sirius swallows a mouthful of his whiskey and enjoys the burn as it slides down his throat. "Don't think you'd understand."

The bartender shrugs. "Might. I've heard it all. Bartender, you know."

Sirius laughs. "Well, perhaps we should introduce ourselves before I start sharing all my deep, dark secrets. I'm Sirius Black."

"Remus," the bartender says, reaching out his hand, long, elegant fingers wrapping around Sirius' in a firm, solid grip. "Remus Lupin."

***

By the end of the night, Sirius has indeed ended up telling Remus more about himself than he ever intended, including more than Remus probably wanted to know about the mind-numbing job he was forced to take in his father's company.

"He expects me to take over the business someday."

It's been a fairly slow night, and Remus has only been called away to serve other customers a few times. Sirius is flattered that he always comes back to talk to him when he's not busy. And when he is, Sirius spends an enjoyable few minutes watching as he expertly mixes and pours with quick hands and an easy smile.

It's near closing time now, and Remus leans over the bar, his hands resting near Sirius' on the well polished oak.

"Investment banking not your lifelong dream, I take it?"

Sirius snorts and shakes his head. "Not exactly."

"What is?"

Sirius takes another sip of his drink. He's probably had one too many. "I'm sorry. What?"

Remus tilts his head and smiles, and Sirius feels the warmth of the whiskey spread all the way down to his toes. "What's your dream job? What do you really want to do?"

"I...I'm not sure." He shakes his head and gives an embarrassed laugh. "I don't know that I've ever thought about it before. I’m the oldest. It was always just assumed I'd go into the family business. No one ever asked me if I wanted to do anything else."

"Well," Remus says, touching the back of Sirius' hand briefly. "Now someone has."

Sirius stares down at his hand for a moment before raising his head to meet Remus’ gaze. "What good would it do? Not like I have a choice."

"Rubbish. Always have choices." He turns around to close out the cash register - last call has come and gone - and Sirius cannot believe the night has flown by so quickly. As he stands up and slides back into his jacket, Remus calls out to him, smiling at him over his shoulder. “You should listen to me, you know. I’m a bartender!”

***

Sirius doesn't plan to return to the club. It was just a lark, after all, just a way to try on a different life for awhile. But somehow he finds himself sitting on that same barstool twice more that week, and again the following. And when Remus begins asking to meet him for dinner before his shift starts, or walking him to the corner to call for a cab after the club closes, Sirius tells himself it doesn’t mean anything. They're just friends. That fluttering in his chest when Remus smiles at him and shakes his hair out of his eyes is nothing.

Remus is better at getting others to talk than talking about himself, but eventually Sirius gets him to open up. He finds out that Remus is an only child and still lives at home with his mum - something that Remus is charmingly unapologetic about - because his father died a few years ago and she needs help around the house. The bartending gig is a second job; he also works at a bookstore and is saving money go to university. He wants to be a teacher.

"So, you're rather amazing," Sirius says. Last call has come and gone again, and he's had too many whiskeys. They've loosened his tongue.

Remus shakes his head, amused. "So, you're rather pissed."

Sirius laughs. The whiskey and Remus’ smile have made him a bit giddy, and the music fills his head. It's as if it's alive, and the musicians aren’t really playing it as much as channeling it through their fingers. Being here, being with Remus, makes him feel that way, like the music. Free and easy instead of tightly wound. Relaxed instead of always on edge. For maybe the first time in his life, he feels like himself.

"Maybe I‘ve had a little too much to drink," Sirius agrees, as they gather their coats and walk outside. "But that doesn't mean you're not amazing."

Remus' eyes go soft, his voice a little deeper when he speaks. "I think you’re quite brilliant yourself."

And when he pulls Sirius into a nearby shop's doorway and kisses him, Sirius lets him. Sirius lets himself feel everything that he's feeling - the roughness of the bricks against his back, the strength of Remus' mouth on his, the gentleness of his hands as he threads them through Sirius' hair. Sirius' own hands curl into the fabric of Remus’ coat, pulling him closer. Remus feels so good like this, pressed up tight against him. Better than he even imagined.

"Let's go back to your place," Remus says, breaking their kiss, and it takes Sirius a moment to cut through the lustful haze he’s in to actually comprehend the words.

"My...my place?"

"We don't have to do...I mean, I just want to spend more time with you. Alone." He runs his thumb over Sirius' bottom lip, and it takes everything in Sirius' power not to groan out loud. "I'd invite you to my place, but there are disadvantages to living with one's mum."

He laughs, and leans in for another kiss, but the smile falls away from his face as Sirius pushes him back and steps around him.

"I...what's wrong? Sirius?"

Sirius busies himself straightening his clothes and searching his pockets for cab fare.

"Sirius!" Remus takes his arm, and Sirius finally looks at him, hating the hurt and confusion he sees there. Hating that his own cowardice has caused it.

"We can't go back to my place because I live with someone."

Remus' brow furrows. "Who?"

Sirius pulls away and hails an approaching cab, glancing back at Remus as he opens the car door. "My fiancée."

***

Sirius doesn't return to the club until more than a month later. He knows Remus’ schedule, and makes sure to go on a day that won't be too busy. Remus' eyes widen for a moment when he walks in, but by the time Sirius reaches the bar he's schooled his face into a mask of indifference. There's a double shot of whiskey waiting for him when he sits down. Straight, no chaser.

"Can I talk to you?" Sirius asks, when the bar traffic is slow enough that Remus can no longer ignore him.

"Need another drink?"

"No.” Sirius swirls the amber liquid around in his glass. “Another drink is not what I need."

"Then I don't think I can help you." Remus starts washing glasses, dipping them first into soapy water, then a clear water rinse before setting them on a clean towel to dry.

"It was practically an arranged marriage," Sirius says, and he can tell Remus is listening, even though he's pretending not to. "Our parents are friends. It was always just assumed...she's a great girl."

Remus drops a glass into the bin of soapy water and it slops up over the sides, and as he reaches his hand in to retrieve it he gets the cuff of his shirt wet. He swears under his breath.

"I told her," Sirius says, and he sees Remus pause before he goes back to rinsing glasses. "We broke up. She moved out. I told her...about us."

"There is no _us_ ," Remus says quickly, and Sirius smiles.

"So. You have been listening." He clears his throat. "I told her that...that I like men. That I like _you._ She was quite fantastic about it. Well, not at first, of course, but all things considered." He takes a sip of his whiskey and watches Remus carefully. Remus dries his hands on a bar towel and walks over to stand in front of him.

“What about your family?”

Sirius gives him an apologetic smile. “Not quite sorted, yet. But I did tell my father that I’m thinking of a career change.”

“To what?”

“I haven‘t a clue. I still haven’t remotely got it together, Remus. I’m still a bloody mess.”

Remus crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, at least you admit it.”

Sirius throws back his head and laughs. “Yes, well, denial has got me so far, you know. I decided to try a different tack.”

Remus says nothing. He’s still wearing that guarded expression on his face, and it kills Sirius to know that he put it there.

“So, I was wondering,” Sirius says. He wonders if Remus can tell that his heart is galloping in his chest. Hope is such a terrifying thing. He picks up his glass and throws back the rest of his drink. “I was _hoping_ if you had a break coming up, maybe we could sit down and talk?”

“Talk about what?”

“Us? Or rather if, you know, you think there could be an _us_.”

Sirius holds his breath as Remus considers this for a moment before he nods, the ghost of a smile on his face. “I may have a break coming up.”

“Good! Great! Fantastic!” he says, and Remus bursts out laughing.

“Are you sure you don’t want another drink? Seems like you could use one.”

“No thanks,” says Sirius. “I’m all right.”

He moves to a table and waits there as Remus steps out from behind the bar to join him. The music swirls around them, all broken chords and improvisational rhythms. Nothing is expected, but it’s beautiful just the same.


End file.
